


Like a Wild Pitch

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, F/M, First Time, Hunting, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Jo is a go-it-alone hunter, and no one has seen the Winchesters in years.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Wild Pitch

Everyone in the hunting world knows the story of how the Winchesters took out a yellow-eyed demon and stopped the Apocalypse. And no matter who tells it there are certain elements that never change: a magic gun, a maelstrom, and John Winchester standing at the center of the storm with his boys—his perfect soldiers—at his back.

Jo doesn't care much for the story.

She likes the Winchesters well enough. They came through town once or twice before the world-ending shit hit the fan. But the way hunters tell it, there's too much mystery, too much epic destiny. Jo thinks it's more that the Winchesters were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Somehow random chance is an easier pill to swallow.

The Winchesters fell completely under the radar after they cut off Armageddon, and not a single hunter blames them for going to ground. Anyone else would have done the same, and if _anyone_ deserves to retire and get out of the business, well. That whole family's pretty much got dibs.

No one has heard so much as a mutter for going on three years now, so Jo is floored when she trips over John Winchester in the middle of a hunt.

There are more important issues demanding her attention at the moment—like the one-armed ghost of Farmer Gray coming at her with an axe—so Jo has to file her surprise away for later. She shoots the specter full of rock salt and buys herself time to dash around the house—time to start digging up the body she knows is buried behind the barn—and she barely registers that John is fast on her tail.

She has to admit that digging the corpse up goes a whole lot faster with two sets of arms. And when Farmer Gray swoops towards them, Jo's out of the hole in a heartbeat to take him out again: once, twice, a third time until she finally hears the snick of John's lighter. The heat of flame behind her is reassuring, but the way the ghost dissolves to embers before her eyes is even better.

 

\- — - — - — -

"So," Jo mumbles between bites of her cheeseburger. "Last I heard, you were out of the hunting business. What gives?"

"Let's just say retirement didn't take," he says. "Turns out I don't remember how to live that way."

"That sucks," says Jo, with a sympathetic tilt of her head. "Are all three of you back in?"

"No, thank God," John says with a warm, wry chuckle. "My boys settled down a lot better than I did. Sam got himself a law degree, and Dean's in school. Gonna be an electrical engineer."

"Wow," says Jo, genuinely surprised. "That's awesome."

"Yeah," says John, and fatherly pride shines warm in his eyes.

"So where are they now?" asks Jo. She wants to keep her curiosity at bay, but more than that she wants a deeper glimpse into this strange Winchester afterlife.

But John just gives her an enigmatic smile and says, "Somewhere safe and quiet. I stay in touch."

Jo laughs, not offended in the slightest at having her inquiry shot down. It's not like she doesn't understand. And there's something about the deliberate mystery painted across the man's face that makes Jo's smile stick stubbornly wide.

"So what about you?" John asks, flagging down the server to order a couple more beers. "What are you doing hunting alone out here?"

Jo feels a warning edge of irritation, hackles threatening to rise at any challenge to her competence as a hunter, but she forces her pride to back down a notch. She can tell from his tone that he doesn't intend to be condescending. He clearly just figures anyone that isn't John Winchester shouldn't be hunting alone.

"I don't really work well with others," she says with a shrug. "Better to go it alone than rely on the wrong person."

"Ain't that the fucking truth," John says, and Jo can't help smiling again. "Must drive your mother nuts, though, always worrying about you."

"I stay in touch," says Jo, smirking as she echoes his own words back at him.

"Well keep that up," he says, and his smile is warm and easy. "I'm sure she appreciates knowing you're in one piece."

 

\- — - — - — -

Hours later, when they've finished their food and paid their tab—when they've wandered out into the misty, chill night and left the noisy chatter of bar patrons behind them—Jo cocks her head to the side and asks, "What will you do now?"

"Hit the interstate and drive for a few hours," he says. "I owe Bobby Singer a visit, figure I'll get to it sooner rather than later."

And even though her heart is jumping a little too fast in her chest, Jo steps closer and says, "Or you could come home with me." 'Home' being her room at the Motel 6, but that's not a code she needs to explain. His eyes instantly darken with interest, and she can tell that the step he takes backwards costs him.

"That would probably be a bad idea," he says, but his voice has gone husky thick and deep. She's glad he's not trying to pretend obliviousness, at least.

"Maybe," she says with a confident smirk, following his retreat with another step forward. "Or maybe it's a brilliant idea, and you need to not overthink things."

He looks like he might protest again, so she pops onto her toes and kisses him. His hands rise to cup her face like it's instinct, and Jo melts her body against his with slow, steady intent. She already knows she's getting what she wants tonight. She just needs him to follow along.

Even with the scrape of stubble against her skin, Jo likes the way John Winchester kisses. She likes the way he tastes, and the way his lips press against hers, firm but reverent. She likes the way he teases with his tongue, the way he meets her halfway, the way he takes just enough control.

When they finally part for breath, Jo catches her bottom lip between her teeth and smiles up through her lashes. It's her most devastating look, calculated to convey both hopeful innocence and heated intent, and no way will the man let something as silly as chivalry stop him when she's got the full force of it trained on him.

"You're really just going to leave town?" she asks, as if they don't both already know where this is leading.

"I suppose there's no hurry," he concedes, and the rough-edged gravel of his voice sends her pulse racing.

"Good," she says, and leads the way.

 

\- — - — - — -

John Winchester fucks the same way he kisses—reverent and hungry and teasing and intense. He's distracting and competent, focused, and Jo has to admit pretty quickly that she's not quite as in command of this encounter as she would have predicted.

It's hard to be in command when she's busy coming apart—gasping and writhing beneath his talented hands and mouth. She can't get it together enough to form a coherent thought, but who needs coherent thought anyway?

She's just about overloaded on sensation by the time he finally slides into her—she's soaked and ready, and she's already come twice. She whimpers and rocks against him, pulls him closer so she can wrap her legs around him and hold on tight.

He finally seems as lost as her, now. He rocks into her with an eager rhythm, and she rolls her hips to take him deeper. She's breathing hard—can barely catch her breath, but she couldn't care less about oxygen as long as he keeps doing _that_.

" _John_ ," she breathes, gasping into his shoulder with the force of another orgasm. She feels his hips stutter and lose time, and she kisses him when he comes—swallows the moan straight from his lips and wonders if he would have said her name.

 

\- — - — - — -

"How long will you be at Bobby's?" she asks him the next morning. She's in an especially good mood, because John woke up first and brought her coffee. Between the caffeine offering and the amazing sex, she's not in much of a hurry to see him go.

"Not long," says John. "Two days. Three at the outside."

"You could meet me in Baltimore when you're done," she says, trying for casual but probably failing at it pretty spectacularly. "I've been tracking some fishy suicides in the area. Was going to head that direction next."

Because even though Jo prefers to work alone, she's got a good feeling about John. It's not just the afterglow, and it's not just the coffee, and it's not just the way she can imagine his hands on her again now.

It's a different sort of instinct: the kind that says he can be counted on. Jo's gut is telling her to keep him close, and she hasn't survived this long by ignoring her instincts.

She's not sure what she'll do if he says no.

"Why not?" he says. His smile might not be easy, but it's genuine, and Jo responds with a full-watt grin of her own.

"Call me when you hit town," she says. "I can't guaranty I won't start without you, but I'll try to leave some of the tedious research for you."

"How thoughtful," says John, and climbs into his truck.

Jo watches him drive away, and loves that it doesn't feel like goodbye.


End file.
